Memories of a Cursed Princess
by Morianna Phoenix
Summary: Kassandra as you have never seen her before. A series of oneshots, from the pov of Kassandra. They cover all aspects of her life, are not chronological, and are inspired by the Muses Melpomene and Calliope. Rated T for now, but may change to M. R&R!
1. Plea to Aphrodite

PLEA TO APHRODITE

(time frame: about six months after Hektor and Andromache's marriage)

I light the incense and fall gently to my knees. I clasp my hands together and press my forehead to them. "Please," I whisper, my voice rasping and thick, heavy with heart-sickness that constricts my chest. "Please, Aphrodite, Eros, I beg of you. I _beg_ of you, let me be! Don't continue this torture! Why must I endure this? Why have you placed this torch within me so that my body and my heart both burn for her, night and day?" My voice breaks and I do not know if I am going to cry. My breath hitches in my throat, and her name falls like a prayer from my lips. The sound is almost like a quiet, wailing cry and yet it is also a harsh and desperate whisper as the tears begin to fall. Her name, "Andromache," a plea, "Andromache." Gods how my heart aches just at the sound of her name on my tongue! A quiet sob is wrestled from my throat. I choke on my cries as I whisper her name one last time, "Andromache!" I am tortured. I weep now. In the back of my mind, I hear her name, a mantra. In the front of my mind, I still pray. 'Oh, Goddess, let this end! I cannot stand this torture! Goddess, please! I love her!' Out loud, I finally confess, "Gods help me, I love her!"


	2. Curse of Apollo

CURSE OF APOLLO

(time frame: unspecified-will be specified in an update)

In rage and despair, I knock the polished bronze scrying mirror to the floor with a wordless shout. It clattered jarringly to the stone floor, echoing loudly in the otherwise silent temple. I scream again. I knocked it to the floor in the first place because the image of my city's fate mocked my by glinting in the mirror once again. And only I can see this torturous image. No one will listen to me. The ears of my people will forever be deaf to any words that fall from my lips, cursed by an offended god. Even the torches in their brackets on the wall mock me. They remind me of the flames that will one day destroy the city.

The image was gone from the mirror the moment it hit the floor. I gaze into it now and see my own reflection. And then suddenly I see another beside mine. _His._ He stands behind me, an almost cruel smile on his perfect lips. His golden hair shining, each one a sunbeam, and his blue eyes bright, he stares into the mirror from over my shoulder. One of his hands reaches up to brush my cheek. I do not move. I do not need to. For there is no one there. I am alone in the temple, and yet he watches me. He always has. In the mirror, he places his other hand on my shoulder, as if to claim me. I do not belong to any man! Neither mortal, nor god! I refuse to! And that is why I am cursed. That is why no one will ever believe my prophecies. Because I refused him. Some say I was too proud. Others say he was too vain. His vanity or my pride, take your pick, but one of them will be my downfall. I know this, but there is nothing I can do to change my fate. The fate of my city, however, _that _I can still try to change.

I stare into the mirror. My reflection is a still as death, though his moves and he places a kiss on my cheek. I feel nothing, of course. He is not physically here. But it infuriates me none the less. I do _not_ belong to him! Yet he acts as if I do. And his once gracefully bestowed gift is now a curse. For a moment, our reflections are replaced with the image of Troy burning again. Then the torchlight flickers and when it steadies again, the mirror shows only my solitary reflection. He has vanished, but not before mocking me with that image one last time. My glare sears into the mirror and I can see such hatred and despair in my own eyes. "Damn you, Apollo," I swear in detestation, "_damn_ you."

And then I turn on my heels and leave the temple, fleeing into the night. Fleeing my visions. Fleeing my emotions. Fleeing my fate.

Fleeing myself.


	3. Struck by Eros

STRUCK BY EROS

(two days after Andromache first arrived in Troy)

'Oh no, she noticed me. She noticed that I've been looking at her.' I feel my face flush and quickly I duck my head and turn my attention back to the ----------- in front of me. As I feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment, I belatedly wish that my hair were not pinned up. If it were loose, at least then I could shake it and have it fall on either side of my face to hide the blush. But even through my embarrassment, that same feeling came over me again. I did not glance back at her, though I very much wanted to. The sun had been shining all around her, making her straight, silken brown hair gleam like dark strands of copper. She stood so majestically, so naturally graceful as she spoke and laughed with some of the other women.

'Not like me,' I think self-deprecatingly, 'Not like my wild black hair that must be pinned up to look presentable or else brushed until it floats and left down to tie itself in knots. And I don't have that grace. Oh, I always have to remind myself of Father's words, just so that I will not look clumsy! "A princess of Troy holds her head high and regally. She walks with grace and confidence. She holds herself with dignity." I never laugh. What on earth do I have to laugh about? _Her_ laughter sounds like a lyre. And the way she seems to gather all the light in a room around her when she enters the door –sometimes I think she looks like a goddess! Her dress, light and airy for the summer heat, floats to her ankles. If only she wore a crown, I might say she looked like Hera, so full of majesty and grace is she.' I inhale deeply and when I exhale, my breath comes out as a soft sigh.

I am staring off into the empty space in front of me, my blue eyes wide and bright. I'm sure I must look like a maiden swooning for some handsome youth. And as ridiculous as I know that is, I simply can't seem to rid myself of this mood. I've been like this ever since she arrived two days ago. She is to be Hektor's bride. 'Oh, he hasn't seen her yet, but when he does, he will be thrilled!' I felt a surge of mixed emotions, mostly happiness for my eldest brother, but also something else that I didn't quite want to identify.

"Kassandra!" I blink rapidly and look up, vaguely startled. My mother is standing in front of me, looking down at me with a mildly annoyed expression. "Pay attention to what you're doing," she tells me more gently, "and keep your mind off whatever young man has caught your fancy, at least until you are _done_ your work." She did not say this loudly, but it feels as though the entire room heard her. By the fact that the conversations have not ceased or quieted in the least, I know that this is not true. But still I once again find myself feeling foolish. Blushing again, I look down at the -------------- in my lap. I sigh in exasperation and inwardly berate myself. The thread is completely mangled. Tied into a thousand knots. I resign myself to an hour of repair-work and begin untangling the mess I have made. As I do this, I begin humming pleasantly under my breath. I would much rather sing while I work, in order to keep a rhythm, but with this many people around it would be bothersome to do so.

After a short while, my frustration began to ebb and a while longer yet it had faded away completely. Now I marvel at this mood I am in. I have been humming almost constantly, if not actually singing, and I have waltzed down the hallways at night when I knew no one was watching. I cannot remember ever feeling quite like this before. And I will admit that it is very unlike me. Even _Diophoebos_ has begun to notice. And he never notices _anything._ For some reason this doesn't bother me, even though it should.

I make sure to pay attention to my hands this time and I continue humming with a small smile on my lips.


	4. The Sun God

The Sun God (age twelve)

I glanced down for a moment at my brother, who lay asleep still, on the floor near the altar. Then I looked back at the radiant being before me. He was tall and handsome, with blue eyes the color of the sky, and hair as gold as the sun. That was all I could see clearly through the brilliance of the light that surrounded him. Trying to look directly at him was just like staring straight into the sun. Finally, I let my gaze fall to the side, where the light was not so bright. I stood silently for a long time, it seemed. I was almost afraid to speak. I knew the dazzling form in front of me belonged to no mortal man. This was a god. And we were in the Sun God's temple. It was not hard to guess which god this was. Unmoving and silent, I barely knew what to think, let alone what to say. After all, what on earth does a twelve year old princess say to a god? At last he spoke.

"There is no need to be afraid of me, lovely one," the Sun God said soothingly.

"I am not afraid of you." The words were firm and matter-of-fact. They were out of my mouth before I realized I had spoken them. Suddenly I was mortified. What if he thought me disrespectful? What if I offended him. I worried that he would vanish now and that I would never know why he had appeared to me in the first place. But he did not vanish.

Instead, he laughed. It was a sound that seemed to shimmer, as if even his laughter were made of sunlight. "No, lovely one," he said, "you _aren't_ afraid of me. Are you?" Apparently this pleased him. "Do you know who I am?"

More politely, but no more demurely, I answered, "Of course. You are the Sun God. You are Apollo." Once I said it, however simple the words might have been, it made it real. I was not dreaming. This was real. _I_ was being visited by the Sun God. But why?

"Has anyone told you that you are very beautiful," he asked me, sitting down on upon one of the stone benches nearer to the windows. Farther away from him now, I found it easier to look at him. He was smiling, with an inquisitive expression on his face. A sense of surreality began to overtake me. Had a god truly just told me that I was beautiful?

"Yes," I told him truthfully, without vanity or doubt. "Many people have told me that I am very beautiful. Some people have even said that I will be 'the most beautiful of all of Priam's daughters', though I don't think that's fair. I am sure my sisters will grow up to be beautiful as well. Besides, some of the time, I'm not really sure that I believe them at all." I stopped abruptly, embarrassed. I always speak too much. Mother says so. It is an embarrassment to watch a girl as old as I babble, she says. I shudder to think what she would say if she heard me now, especially given who I was talking to. "Forgive me," I asked sincerely, "I-"

The words of my apology hung un the dewy morning air, unspoken. "Kassandra," he said, "Don't apologize for telling the truth. And it _is_ the truth. You are quite beautiful and charming." Charming? _Me?_ "It was you whom I noticed, first among all the girls in your father's great kingdom." I was silent once more now as I listened, enchanted by his presence. "It is you to whom I have decided to offer my gift."

"Gift?" My voice echoed his, repeating the word as if I did not understand. Perhaps, at that moment, I _didn't_ understand.

"Yes, a gift. The gift of prophecy." Prophecy. I had the gift of foresight, yes. I saw the future in flashes and images, but prophecy-. That was something different. I could call upon it at will, see in clear, unbroken visions, foretell things that _mattered_. Slowly, he stood up, but remained at a distance, saying, "Do you wish for me to grant you that gift, lovely one?"

"Yes," I told him immediately and shamelessly.

"Then it shall be so. You will be a phrophetess, and the only seer in all of Troy who needs no oracle to speak your predictions." There was something hypnotizing in his melodic voice.

_Only_. For some reason the word 'only' bothered me. I swept my gaze around the room as I tried to understand why. Finally, my sight came to rest upon my twin, who seemed to be in a trance-like sleep. Suddenlyh my head cleared and I felt guilty. I wanted very much to accept the gift I was being offered, but my brother- this would separate us. I knew it would. I could not be so different from Helenus. He was my closest friend. My emotions began to pull me in different directions then. I stood helpless and unable to reply. I was torn. Apollo must have seen this in my eyes, for he followed my gaze to Helenus. After an instant, the god spoke again. "I will grant this power to your brother as well." He stepped forward and, standing very close to me, whispered, "but you must promise me something, Kassandra."

Dizzy, I asked him, "What must I promise?"

"You must promise to love me. Tell me you love me, and I will grant the gift."

"I love you," I said without hesitation. I adored most of the gods. It would not be difficult to love Apollo. In that moment, under his spell, I think I believed that what I said was true.

He smiled. I don't know how I managed not to look away from his divine radience. He smiled and decreed quietly, "It is done." Light-headed and strangely breathless, I remained standing only because he held me by both of my arms. With these words, he placed a kiss on my forehead. The room tilted and spun. The light around him flared into such brightness that I was made temporarily blind. And then he was gone.


End file.
